


maybe we're torn

by fleurting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death, Gen, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:04:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5822602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurting/pseuds/fleurting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one understands what it is like to grow up in war unless, of course, they are there themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe we're torn

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the rejection square on my [hc_bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) card. Inspired by the prompt _"This is bigger than anything Reparo can fix."_ which I came across somewhere but unfortunately cannot remember where. If it was yours don't hesitate to let me know!

No one understands what it is like to grow up in war unless, of course, they are there themselves.

You live in a constant state of fear. You are never quite sure who to trust.

You dread the sound of your loved one's names being uttered by anyone who does not have their voice. 

You pour yourself into whatever you can, try not to imagine the stain of blood on your hands. It doesn't work but it makes you feel better. At least, for a little bit.

You're scared.

You put on a brave face, try to be as strong as you possibly can. 

You are not a saviour but you are trying to save yourself.

You are not a saviour. They have other people for that.

You are not a soldier either but you are trying to fight.

You are not a solider but you were born into a war. 

People tell you that we'll win this we'll fight. You think of miles of motionless bodies spread across yards. How can you win something that's already been lost?

You are made to go to school to learn and learn as if any of it means anything. 

This is not something a spell can fix. 

You are starting to believe this isn't something anything can fix.

The world seems to spin on with porcelain smiles and plastic laughs. You don't comprehend how it can when you barely recognize the sound anymore.

You don't harm anyone except, perhaps, maybe, yourself.

The earth has a mess on it's hands, rotating at it's center, and it's taking you with it.

Decay surrounds you, along with death and destruction. 

You get to the point where you can't cry anymore.

You don't want to. You want to fight. 

You sport a mask, become a ghost. You no longer grieve for happier times.

You are no longer appalled at injustice or disruption. 

War brings out the worst people.

You're just waiting for when the moment strikes.

You used to refuse the possibility of battle. Now you reject the possibility that it will ever end.

Your mind becomes used to chaos, of obituaries. 

The smallest part of you, the youngest part, who still believes in fairy tales and happily ever afters, the one who still holds on to the words told to you by those older than you, the one who still has faith, wishes it didn't.

You no longer mourn. You have moved on, now in the final stage of grief. 

You take comfort in little pleasantries, or a day without death - at least a day without it taking anyone you know.

You do this because you have accepted, have come to fully comprehend your time will come soon and that this, this bloodshed will never cease. It will never, ever end. 

There is nothing anyone, not a saviour, not even a solider, can do

This is bigger than anything _Reparo_ can fix.


End file.
